


Insecurity

by Anonymous



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Foot Fetish, I swear I don’t have a foot fetish, Insecurity, i can’t really say anything man, instead it turned into this, take it, this was meant to be a crack fic damn it, toe sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 01:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17377406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After a long time waiting, you build the courage to let Brian try something new with you. At the same time, he hopes to make you feel less insecure about yourself.





	Insecurity

**Author's Note:**

> Listen this is not a serious fic, and not meant to be serious. I’m almost certain Brian does not have a foot fetish. 
> 
> All I can do is apologize if you choose to read this, but if you do, I hope you enjoy yourself fhjfhfj

There are few times where you could say you felt self-conscious. This is one of those times.

You find yourself sitting on a rather comfortable chair. Though its design is simple, the red velvet fabric is soft against your skin and the cushion molds to your shape. You readjust yourself to try to sit a little straighter, but your efforts are in vain. You let yourself relax and be pulled into the chair’s warm embrace, and for a second you feel your worries disappear. With nothing better to do, you pull out your phone and look at your recent snaps.

Save for a few streaks, there was nothing exciting happening within your friends’ spheres. Your mind keeps wandering back to a few snaps from a certain somebody. He was the one who made you feel like royalty, as though you owned the world. There was something ethereal about him, yet it was balanced by his down-to-earth nature. 

Despite his positive attributes and his ability to lift your spirits, he was also the one to cause your insecurity. His constant praises may have boosted your confidence, yet to you they seemed to illuminate your imperfections, your physical flaws in particular. You never cared about your looks enough to deem yourself beautiful or ugly, though certain things always seemed to be pestering you, ranging from stretch marks to scars. One insecurity that affected you on a constant was your feet. They were perfectly functional, but the smallest things would bite at your mind on different days—your Morton’s toe felt a little too long, your arches were a little too flat, your big toe was a bit too bony. You usually kept them in socks or close-toed shoes to prevent others from seeing them and to take your mind off them.

A vibration from your phone takes you out of your thoughts, and you see a notification from the man who brought you into your situation. Upon opening it you are bombarded with a closeup of his face, silver curls framing his features. A relaxed smile rests on his face and hazel eyes radiate warmth. Below his chin is a caption: “I’ll be with you within a moment’s time! Don’t forget to wear the shoes I sent you! Bri.”

The snap makes you painfully aware of your feet, currently clad in said shoes. They were a pair of Mary Jane pumps, a think black strap across your foot and its thin heel curving ever so slightly near the base. Unsure of what the black fabric is, you graze your leg with your shoe and come to the conclusion that it’s suede. Even though you aren’t one for heels, you admit that these would probably end up amongst your favorite shoes.

Once more, you are ripped from your thoughts, this time by a gentle knock. “Come in,” you say. Your voice was hoarse from not speaking. You adjust yourself again, back now straight and legs crossed. Upon hearing the door open, your mouth goes dry: the legend himself, Dr. Brian May, stands before you. His silver mane seems to have more life in it, his curls more defined than you remember. His outfit, like your shoes, was simple and black, his shirt halfway unbuttoned and revealing some of his chest. Your eyes move down his legs to see his shoes, and you have to suppress a chuckle at his clogs. He raises an eyebrow at the smirk dancing on your lips.

“I take it you’re in a good mood, dear?” he asks you, his facial expression mirroring your own.

Mouth still dry and untrusting of your voice, you nod. Your smirk falls as he approaches you, and you feel a surge of nervousness run up your spine. His smile becomes gentler, and there’s something calming about looking into his eyes. You’re reminded of the snap he sent you moments ago.

Once he’s standing in front of you, he kneels and takes your hands into his. He starts massaging the tops of your hands with his thumbs. “How do you like the shoes, dear?”

You feel a bit more at ease by his gentle tone. “They’re lovely,” you say. Despite his own taste in footwear, you have to admit he’s not completely without taste in shoes. You look down at them in awe; they were simple, yet its round toe soothed most fears about bunions forming and the cut of the shoe itself accentuated the shape of your calf. You fail to notice the guitarist staring at you until he lifts your chin and turns your face to look at him. You are taken aback by the gentleness of his touch, but your mind fails to work once his eyes captured yours.

There is something pensive about his stare, but there are flecks of admiration for you as well. In general you hated eye contact, but for the second time today you find yourself lost in his eyes. Your nerves completely calm themselves, and, now relaxed, you move towards him. He does the same, and within seconds your lips are on his. The kiss is gentle, but it leaves you both begging for more. Neither of you move to deepen the kiss, however, instead pulling apart as fast as you had come together. Your breathing is a bit heavier, and your next breath hitches in your throat when he begins to dust kisses over your hands.

He places your hands on your lap and backs away from you. Confusion begins to bubble within you, though the feeling dissipates once his thumbs start kneading into your right calf. A moans escapes from your mouth, relishing the strength of his hands. He puts down your leg and moves to do the same with the other leg. He looks up at you and sees the bliss in your face, your eyes closed and your lips slightly parted.

“I admit I was quite shocked when you agreed to do this.”

“Me too,” you answered, unaware of your actions. You realize what you said,and your eyes snap open. You look at the guitarist before you, who noticed the tension building within you. Seeing the concern in his eyes, you try to relax yourself.

“If you want, we don’t have to do th—“

You interrupt him with a quiet shush. “I’m fine with this, really.” Despite being nervous and your rising insecurity, this was something you wanted to experience, if nothing else just to please him. Even though you hated feet—especially your own—you knew the older man had an affinity for them. It took you months to build up the courage to indulge him, and now that you were both so close, you couldn’t bring yourself to back down. There was also a spark of curiosity, though you never wanted to admit that to anyone.

“Are you sure, love?” You can hear the uncertainty in his voice, but you look at him as reassuringly as possible.

“I am, trust me.” You lean over and bring a hand to his cheek. Your thumb brushes over the soft skin, and you feel him relax under your touch. You pull away and sit back, letting him take over once more.

With more confidence, he begin to kiss your knee. He nips gently at your skin, eliciting another moan from you. He moves farther down your leg, his kisses more relaxed. Once he reaches your ankle, he puts a hand around your covered ankle and looks up to you. You nod at him, giving him the wordless permission needed to take off you shoe. With a gentle tug, the Mary Jane slides off and exposes your foot. Your toes point on instinct, as though they were hiding. His lips brush against the top of your foot, only stopping once he reaches the base of your toes.

“You have beautiful feet, dear.” His loving tone throws you off-guard, and again you feel insecure. You try to point your toes even more, but his thumbs start working into the balls of your feet. You can’t help but flex your toes in response. You groan from the sensation and pressure, but your mind refuses to let go. You hate your feet, and can’t understand his sentiments.

Sensing something wrong, he asks you, “What about your feet don’t you like?”

Despite the genuine tone, you feel suspicious; you both know that you revealed your reasons before on multiple occasions. “There are only so many times I can tell, Brian.” You try not to shrink into yourself.

“You’re right dear. Let me guess, your arches?” You nod weakly. He hums before putting your foot down on his lap. He takes your other foot and removes your shoe, placing the pump next to him. He takes both feet into his hands and lifts them to his eye level. He places a kiss to each foot, his slightly chapped lips tickling the sensitive skin. You barely manage to suppress a laugh, though your efforts fail to go unnoticed by the guitarist. He lowers your feet to smile at you, happy to see a positive reaction. “You have no need to worry about your arches, doll, they still carry you perfectly.” He kisses your right arch again, this time earning a chuckle from you. Knowing that you’re ticklish, he locks away that nugget of knowledge for later activities.

You can see that he discovered your ticklishness. “You bastard,” you grumble. His laughter was richer than chocolate, and you can no longer contain your smile.

“What else, dear?” With a bothering knowingness, he moves to the bases of your big toes. He knew about your paranoia of bunions, given how much pressure actually goes to your second toes. Again, he begins placing kisses on your feet, right where your insecurity lies. You are loath to admit the physical praises are boosting your ego. You feel a small nibble against the bone, and you suck in a breath. There’s a small amount of pain lingering from it, though another kiss is planted on that site. He looks up at you again, seeing your eyes closed and body relaxing. Within seconds the pain is gone.

“I still have one more major issue, sweetie,” you breathe out. He smiles at you before looking down at your feet. Your toes begin to point, not unlike a dancer.

“Ah, yes,” he says, mimicking your tone. He massages the balls of your feet for a second time, and you feel your legs and feet relax. Having proper access to each toe, he wraps his mouth around your Morton’s toe. You feel almost scandalized by the boldness. Your jaw drops when you hear the sounds he emits, and a flick of his tongue leaves you weak. He opens his mouth to take in your other middle toes, and even though this wasn’t your favorite feeling, you were still enjoying yourself.

His sucking grows stronger, and you are reminded of just how nimble his tongue can be. It swirls around your toes, leaving you powerless. He removes himself from your feet, and your toes are left cold and wet. Before you can complain, he takes your big toes into his mouth and proceeds to do the same. You want to laugh at yourself, still in shock that this was happening at all and at how you were reacting. You become so lost in your thoughts and his actions you barely register a nibble at the tip of your left big toe. Your eyebrows furrow, taking note of that action. You notice there wasn’t any pain, but your interest was somewhat piqued.

“Did you really just nibble at my toe?” you ask. Your voice was shaky from a lack of proper use.

He stops what he is doing to look at you. “Do you have a problem with it, dear?”

“No, I’m just—I guess I’m still trying to register it happening.”

“No worries, love.” He proceeds to move onto your other foot, taking in everything but your hallux. You almost flex your toes in response, though his mouth limits your movements. His actions almost feel effortless to you, and you feel your mind go blank. Just as soon as it had started, it ends with a quick kiss to each toe. They feel cold without his attention. You finally open your eyes and you see his flushed face and lust-laden eyes. His pupils are blown open, and feel blood rush through you. He puts your feet down on his lap and works to even his breathing.

“How was that for you?” you ask. 

He chuckles at your question. “I could be asking you the same thing, but I found it amazing. How was it for you?”

“Hmm, it wasn’t bad I suppose.” The teasing tone in your voice is obvious. You move your foot up his thigh, stopping right before his crotch. His eyes look at your foot dangerously, serving as your deciding factor. You lift your foot again and his legs part a little, giving you the space you need. You put your foot down where you both want it and apply pressure. The groan that leaves his mouth is almost sinful. Removing your foot, you lift yourself from the chair and kneel before him, both of you looking into each other’s eyes with need.

“God, I really love your feet.” The huskiness in your voice made you want to return the favor, in your way of course.

“Then let me show you what they can do.”


End file.
